Explosions
by Tipper
Summary: Explosions rock Four Corners, and, in the aftermath, Ezra finds himself reliving a piece of his past he'd hoped long forgotten.
1. explosions

Author: Tipper

Disclaimer: the Magnificent Seven are owned by other people. I did not create them.

Description: Explosions rock Four Corners, but its the aftermath that's the killer.

* * *

**_Four Corners Today_**

Gunfire, echoing like thunder through the buildings of Four Corners, jolted the townsfolk awake in the wee hours. Someone screamed at the abrupt change in atmosphere, and shouts echoed through the streets. They could hear Chris yelling at Buck and JD to get down, and strange voices yelling in return from the bank – the abrupt noise was merciless and absolutely terrifying.

Up in his room over the saloon, Ezra's eyes flew open, muscles reacting instinctively to grab his rifle by the bed as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. In seconds, he was at the window facing the street, pushing back the heavy sash and throwing it open, looking for the perpetrators. The sun was not even above the horizon yet and everything was eerily lit in the false pre-light of dawn.

With a grunt at the wind that assailed him, he silently cursed the bastards that saw fit to cause trouble at this ungodly hour. Forcing his eyes wide open, he let the freezing winter wind assault his corneas with abandon, using it to sharpen his senses and wake him up.

The street appeared empty, but he knew it was only the eye of the storm. Sudden movement caught his eye, and he quickly recognized the white buckskin clad legs of Vin where he crouched behind the water trough. The gambler couldn't quite see from his vantage point at whom the tracker was aiming, and it annoyed him. This meant the shooter was out of the visible range of his rifle.

Damn.

His room was over the east corner of the bar, with two windows facing the alley and only one facing front towards north. Jumping to his feet, Ezra ran to his door and into the small hallway beyond. Jogging down the few feet to the room he knew faced east, he threw open Inez's door without a thought. She yelped as he entered, gathering her bedclothes around her.

"Stay down!" he ordered absently, moving to her front facing window and throwing it up. She watched him with bright eyes, sheets pulled up to her chin, goosebumps assailing her flesh as the cold wind whistled in through the open window. She tried not to let her teeth chatter as he lifted the rifle, concentrating on his aim. Inez's room was on the western corner, and her street window faced the bank.

Ha, now he could see what was happening. Three figures were inside the institution, gray light glinting off the barrels of their guns. In the corner of his vision, Ezra spotted JD and Buck up the street behind a wagon, the kid still in his long-johns. He also saw Josiah off to the left behind some barrels in front of the Potter's mercantile. He assumed that Nathan and Chris were either below him, or behind some other cover to his right that was not visible. It occurred to him he could no longer see Vin clearly.

"You best give up now, boys!" Chris's unmistakable drawl came from somewhere below him.

Well that answered that question. Chris must be behind some of the casks on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. Ezra raised his rifle and drew a bead on the outlaw in the window. The man thought he was hidden, but it would be an easy shot for the gambler from his higher position. He wondered if he could take the other two cretins out as well. He remained poised, only vaguely aware of the frightened breaths of the saloon manager behind him.

He heard the bed creak as she pulled her bedclothes tighter. At the same moment it occurred to him that he was wearing nothing more than a loose pair of cotton pajama bottoms. Oops.

"We can hold you off all day, law man!" This was spoken by the outlaw in the doorway, the man's shotgun pointed generally towards Chris's position. Ezra considered switching his aim, as this one looked like the leader. He thought he could probably take that one out as easily as the man in the window. No, the leader always belongs to Chris. Part of the gunslinger's joie de vivre. Ezra grinned at the thought.

"I doubt it," Chris called back. "Tell me, Conners…It is Conners isn't it? Your wanted poster doesn't do you justice….Tell me, how many men do you see covering you?"

"Sure he can count, Chris?" Buck called from the wagon. Behind him, JD snickered.

Ezra watched as Conners frowned. "Whaddya talking about, lawman?"

"Well, if you've done your research, you'd know that seven men protect this town. That means at least seven guns are trained on you right now," Chris explained. Ezra smiled as he saw Conners' smug expression fall. The one in the window pushed up off the floor a little and did a quick search with his eyes of the street. Conners whispered something to his men, and they whispered back. The "damn" on Conners lips was easy to read, even from this distance. Then Ezra saw them speak some more, and one of the men disappeared from his sight into the back of the bank. What were they up to now?

"Conners, I'm giving you ten seconds to get out of there or we start shooting." Chris barked.

"Alright!" Conners called back. "We're coming out." Again he whispered something to the man out of Ezra's sight. The gambler frowned, but didn't lower his aim. Then he saw the telltale striking of a match and knew exactly what was happening.

"Chris!" he yelled out the window. "They've got dynamite!" At almost the same instant, a bundle of the red sticks shot out from the door and ended up somewhere below Ezra. He took a shot and hit the guy in the window, then jumped backwards onto the bed with Inez. Grabbing her tightly, he pulled her away and over against the far wall of her bedroom, sitting them down inside the open door of the closet.

The explosion ripped upwards, taking part of the front wall with it instantly, followed quickly by two more explosions to the left and the right of their position. They must have thrown two more bundles, the gambler thought crazily, gripping the closet frame for support while Inez gripped him. He hated the sound of explosions – it reminded him too much of the war. He took comfort in the feel of Inez in his arms, reminding him that he was not back in the South, but home. Home.

The building creaked ominously, then the whole room started to tilt towards the front. Inez screamed.

The corner of the saloon slid downwards into the large main room below, or, more properly, what "used" to be the room below, thought the gambler sardonically. Inez's room shook as half the floor disappeared in an eruption of dust, glass and wood splinters, taking with it more of the wall, a dresser and a small chair. Bits of ceiling above the area followed, narrowly missing pelting the two people as they huddled on the floor of the small closet.

The bed slipped forwards across the remaining floor to hang precariously over the edge, along with a trunk and a night table. Other things moved to follow, except for Ezra and Inez. He held her in place with his right hand gripping the closet door frame and the other locked tight around her body. She, in turn, gripped him tightly about the waist, her head buried in his chest. Both had their eyes closed.

In the background, as the dust settled, Ezra could hear the sounds of more guns going off. Then he heard people yelling, and realized they were yelling for Chris, Inez and himself. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The entire front of Inez's room was gone, indeed her whole corner of the saloon had disappeared where it faced the bank. They were both completely out in the open, sheltered only a bit by some of the remaining roof and part of the west wall. Inez shook in his arms, and he shifted a little to make her more comfortable. Unfortunately, his slight movement caused the remaining floor to creak loudly, and he felt Inez tighten her hold of him.

"Don't move!" she screamed in terror.

"Yeah, I figured that out," Ezra snapped.

"Inez! Was that you? Are you okay?" Buck yelled up from somewhere below.

Craning his head to peer out, Ezra damned the bright sun that had risen during the escapade. It made it difficult to see anything except all the glittery dust that circled in front of him, blocking his view. Beyond the somewhat solid doorframe of the closet, he could see next to nothing.

"She's fine, Buck!" Ezra yelled blindly. "But we won't be for long if you don't get us out of here! If we move, I think the floor is going to give way!"

"Then don't move!" Buck yelled back.

"We already figured that out Buck!" Inez retorted angrily from where she still had her head in the gambler's chest. Ezra chuckled, earning him the feel of Inez's nails digging into his skin.

"Well good." Buck replied, sarcasm in his tone. Then his voice changed again, as the worry burned through it. "Chris is buried somewhere below you. He dove into the saloon as soon as he saw the dynamite."

"Damn," Ezra muttered, and Inez groaned. At that moment, a burst of cold air swept across Ezra's bare back, causing him to shiver.

"Please hurry Buck, it's freezing up here," Inez cried, pulled him closer. He lowered his head into her hair, glad for the warmth.

She smelled wonderful.

Oops, again.

He listened quietly as voices called Chris's name underneath them. It sounded like Buck, Josiah and Nathan must be crawling through the wreckage below. He heard some boards being tossed aside, then the room shifted again. Inez's voice rose in her throat, and Ezra pulled them tighter against the door frame of the closet, now using both hands to grip the frame since Inez appeared to have such a good grip on him.

"Buck, damn it!"

"Shut up, Ez!" Fear strained the ladies man's voice, causing him to be more curt. "We're doing this as fast as we can!"

Inez's shoulders started to shake as the initial shock gave way to tears. Ezra risked releasing his hold with his left hand to massage her back. She was only wearing a light nightgown, and he could feel the curve of her spine through the thin fabric. In fact, as he thought about it, he could feel quite a lot of Inez pressed up against him. Oh hell, where was his mind! That was the last oops, he reprimanded himself.

"It's alright, Senorita. We'll get out of this soon," he kissed her hair, speaking as much for himself as for her. She gripped him tighter just as another blast of cold swept over them, unrelenting. It seeped into him, freezing him from the inside out.

The floor creaked again, and the bed slid further over the edge. The gambler returned his left hand to grip the frame, the fingers of his right hand already cramping under the strain of the grip. Ezra craned his neck to see below him better, as the wind had blown away most of the dust. He could just make out the edge of the street and the bank. Several townsfolk were gathered in front of the bank and the next door jail, watching them and the men below with unguarded dismay. He grinned, wondering what a sight they must seem.

"It's very cold, isn't it Senor," Inez mumbled, stating the obvious. She swallowed a sob, and it was obvious she was trying to distract herself through conversation. Great choice of topic, the gambler mused as his back began to numb.

"Colder than the paws of a polar bear," he whispered in reply.

"A what?"

"A polar bear." He smiled, even though he knew she couldn't see his face where her head was buried in his chest. "I read about them in some arctic scholar's travel journal. They say they are completely white. That way they blend in with the ice that covers the northern landscape."

"A landscape made of ice? Does not sound like a nice place."

"No, but I suppose the bears like it. Of course, they have all that hair…."

Inez giggled slightly. "Would you believe, I have never seen a bear. Neither white nor brown."

Ezra's smile broadened, "No, I don't expect you have. They don't like people very much. We tend to shoot them."

"And you say there are ones that are all white? They must be beautiful. Just like the snow when it first falls. You know, this was the first year I saw snow…." She cringed as the floor fell a little more. "Madre de Dios," she muttered, digging her head more into his chest. He felt her arms stretch tighter around his waist, and he mindlessly wondered whether her hands were able to reach each other.

From behind him, he heard some startled cries from the crowd as the bed shifted slightly. It took all of Ezra's will power not to scream out at Buck again to be more careful. Instead, he shut his eyes to listen more intently to the search below. A few minutes later, he heard Josiah's exclamation of joy. It was followed quickly by a swear.

"Nathan! Over here!" the preacher called. "Oh Lord. He's out cold."

Both Ezra and Inez tensed as they listened. More boards were heard being tossed aside, and some light swearing from the healer.

"He's alive," they heard Nathan say. Sighs of relief came from all around. Outside, some of the crowd clapped. "He must have hit his head, but it doesn't look too bad. And I think his left arm is broken. But I can't…I can't reach his legs. We have to move that beam."

"Alright," Buck answered. "Josiah, you and me will try to lift this thing. Nathan, try to slip some of these pieces of wood under it as soon as we get it up." In the back of his mind, Ezra wondered where JD and Vin were. A horrible thought crossed his mind that they may be hurt, and he tried to erase it. He heard the men beneath him move into position, then the sound of grunting as they lifted the offending piece of wood. Immediately the floor started moving again, and the bed started to tilt upright where it hung over. The trunk and nightstand began to follow.

"Look OUT!" Ezra yelled, "The bed!"

"Pull him out NOW" Buck screamed.

Ezra watched in horror as the bed tilted completely vertical in a strange sort of slow motion, then suddenly disappeared in a cascade of colors. Screams from the crowd accompanied the massive boom as it landed, and both Ezra and Inez felt the remaining floor under them drop to an even steeper incline. The nightstand and trunk fell next, eliciting some more screams. Ezra gripped the closet doorframe with both hands now, trusting Inez to maintain her hold on his body herself as more of the room disappeared in a cloud of dust. Wood and nails rained down on them from the collapsing roof, smacking the gambler in the head and back where he bent over Inez, trying to keep her protected. Splinters dug into his hands, and his muscles ached as he held on for what felt like an eternity while the room settled again.

Of course, it was really only seconds until it was over. Inez whimpered, and Ezra was hard pressed not to start crying himself. He looked up at the now visible cloudless sky above their heads, its shade an icy blue. Curiously, he felt something wet dripping down his face from his hairline, tasting its saltiness as some of it touched his lips. Fabulous. Now he was bleeding.

He looked at Inez where she cowered against him, and was happy to see that she seemed unscathed. Unable to resist, he once more placed a kiss to her hair, and she shifted it a little, clearly trying to move her head up so she could see his face. Unfortunately, her position was too awkward and she gave up.

The cold continued to lash at them, and she started to shiver. His own limbs were beginning to feel like ice, especially his arms. The only warm place on his body was his chest and stomach where Inez was curled in a ball.

Both were listening to the sounds below, waiting for news. Just then, more spontaneous clapping erupted from the crowd, along with cries of joy. Inez relaxed a little, and Ezra sighed with relief as they heard Buck's voice delivering more orders.

"Nathan, Yosemite, get Chris to the clinic. We'll be along as soon as we get Ez n' Inez."

"Ez n' Inez," Inez snickered weakly. "We rhyme."

The absurdity of the statement caused Ezra to laugh, the cold and his fear driving a bit of hysteria into the sound. Inez giggled a little too, her own tone a little less than stable.

"Or," he whispered, a little too jovially into her hair, "If you combine our names, you get Inezra." This caused Inez too giggle even harder, and Ezra laid his cheek on her head. Eventually, she quieted, the giggles turning back into a light crying.

Looking up, he risked turning his head again to look around, his strained neck muscles complaining. There was barely four feet of floor left between them and the massive hole that led to the saloon floor below. Basically, all that was left of Inez's room was the corner in which they were sitting, which included part of the exterior wall to where a window had sat, and the back wall that they were clinging to, which was anchored by the rooms behind and the storerooms below. Looking across, he realized with a jolt that he could see clearly into his own room, as the wall and hallway were gone. At least most of his room appeared to be intact.

Small favors. He attempted to grin roguishly, but at that same moment the freezing wind lashed his back again, and he gritted his teeth instead.

Taking in a deep breath, he was about to call down to Buck and ask after JD and Vin when the most wonderful thing occurred.

He heard JD's voice.

"EZRA!"

The gambler twisted his head around to look sideways at the building next to the saloon, the one which Inez's western wall had faced. It was the three story residence of one of Four Corners more affluent citizens, Lester Mitchell. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out that JD was looking at him from a second story window, waving gaily. He pointed up, and with a little work, Ezra craned his neck to see that Vin was on the roof of the house, two ropes hanging off his shoulders. The tracker grinned.

"W-Where the h-hell h-have you b-been?" The gambler yelled through chattering teeth, attempting a smile. Damn, when did his teeth start chattering?

"Buck sent us to get ropes and to figure out a way to get you down," Vin called back. "I think I got this worked out." He was yelling too, even though he couldn't have been more then ten to fifteen feet away. Ezra didn't point this out. He just nodded.

"Okay," Vin continued, "I've secured these lines through the trapdoor behind me to the floor below. JD's going to be in there holding on to them with Mr. Greene, Mr. Baxter and some of the other men. Now, I'm gonna toss these to you and you tie 'em around your waists. Then hold on and we'll lift you up one at a time and swing you over. You might hit the side of this house pretty hard, so watch that. Then we're going to lower you down where Buck'll be. Sound good?"

Ezra nodded wordlessly, but Inez squealed a "NO."

She tried to turn her head, but as she was tightly balled into Ezra's chest, she couldn't make it. Instead, she yelled into his chest, her eyes shut. "W-we have t-to go to-together! If one of us m-moves without-out the other, the-the other will fall! We've already t-tried."

Ezra looked at Vin, agreeing without a word. He saw Vin back up and turn to kneel over what he assumed was the trap door leading to the attic under the peaked roof. He heard him ask if he thought they could handle both of them. JD answered with an enthusiastic "Sure!" but the gambler could also hear argumentative voices coming from the others. Inez continued to shiver in his arms, and chills ran through Ezra as well. A particularly sharp wind whistled through the ruined wall, and the floor creaked again. God, he was so cold. He could recall only one other time when he was this cold, back during the war….He slapped himself mentally. He was not going to remember the war. He was not!

"V-vin just th-throw us the ropes now!" Ezra yelled. He lowered his head to whisper to Inez, "Go f-first. It w-won't fall with j-just me here. And I'll have th-the rope to anchor me. This'll work. It's the only way."

"No, Ezra…." she whispered, just as the ropes smacked into the side of his body. Then fell away. He couldn't grab them without letting go.

"Inez, you-you'll have to catch them. Can you m-manage that?" He looked up, "V-vin! W-wait!"

"B-but I c-can't see them…" she whispered helplessly.

"Just hold your arms out, m-maybe we'll get lucky," he replied.

The tracker scowled as he drew the ropes back in for another throw. In Ezra's arms, Inez shakily unlocked her grip on him and tried to reach further around him by shifting her legs under her. Again the floor and now the closet wall they held onto creaked ominously, but somehow stayed in place. With great care, she somehow managed to press herself more tightly against Ezra and lengthen her reach. She opened her arms up, so that only her elbows were still tight to his sides.

"Okay, V-vin," she called. "Throw…."

Both yelled as the wood creaked one last time and suddenly gave way under his fingers. In the background, Vin's scream of "No!" echoed above it all. Desperately, the tracker threw the ropes, hoping beyond hope.

Noise, dust and pain hit the gambler all at once as both the floor and the closet frame collapsed, sending him sliding sideways, then backwards. He was falling, his arms holding Inez to him tightly. She was screaming, following him as he skidded rapidly down the tipping floor. She reached out with a free arm, feeling the roughness of the ropes on her fingers, but she was too slow.

They hit the edge, and, like the bed, hesitated only briefly before they both disappeared down into the gaping hole. Unknowable things stabbed at him as he fell, and he felt more than one pierce his unprotected flesh. Wood, nails and other crap rained down in their wake, and then the sensation of his back and head slamming into something unyielding drove his consciousness from him, and Inez from his arms.

* * *

**_Tennessee, winter, late 1863, on the wrong side of Sherman's Campaign_**

Explosions and gunfire rained down as he hunkered behind the cannons, his freezing hands tightly wrapped around the elevating screw on the cannon's base, fingers tight and aching with nerves. Green eyes measured the distance to the trees where the shadows in navy blue were hiding, and computed the angle of the hill with an uncanny precision -- child's play to one who'd been brought up to rely on mathematics over morals. The battle was already waging in different places around this string of fields, but the main contingent of Sherman's army would aim for the artillery line, as per usual.

The South was on the defensive now, being pushed further and further back as the North turned the tide of the war through better weaponry and more stable supplies. But the Rebels would keep fighting for their independence. After three years of fighting, three years of watching their friends and families destroyed by the cold Northern bluecoats, they weren't about to give up now.

General Joseph E. Johnston had them slowly retreating, trying to find them the most defensible positions, and somehow, they had managed to hold fairly steady against Sherman's army now for weeks, despite the Yanks outnumbering them in almost every battle. Ezra smiled. He liked Johnston, even though that bastard had been the one to pull him into this bloody debacle.

He had been unkindly drawn into the fray about six months ago, against his will, but he was committed now. Joe Johnston had been a friend of his mother's, back when they were running the riverboat up the Mississippi. When Ezra had been caught by the Rebs running black market supplies to both sides, Johnston had recognized him as "Ezra Spencer," the boy who helped his mother Maude run slaves to Illinois, and threatened the young man with hanging unless he joined the confederate army under his command. At the time, he thought the army would be the lesser of two evils. Now, he half wished he'd gone for the noose.

Like the others, he wasn't always sure what they were fighting for, but too many of his friends were dead for him not to want vengeance. This fetid and nasty war had depressed the boy to the point where his only thoughts were to kill as many Yanks as possible, to give them, as one of his friends had put it, "a sound thrashing so that they'll go home with their tails between their legs. Teach 'em that the South ain't ever gonna bow down."

That friend had his chest shattered by a mini ball last week.

Ezra took his revenge out with the cannons. He gripped the elevating screw even tighter, not blinking as he watched the forest curtain for movement.

Everywhere was blood and noise, and his mind was ringing with the unyielding onslaught. He knew many who'd had their eardrums perforated from being too near the cannons. He wore earplugs. His lieutenant be damned. He would hear him if he yelled.

_"Ezra! Inez! Where are you? My God, the whole thing collapsed on top of them!"_

He looked up, his eyes searching for the voice's owner. What the hell was that?

_"Ezra? Damn it, where are they! Ezra, answer me!"_

Ezra spun around, the seven men standing with him around the cannon giving him odd looks. One held up a canister full of shot for inspection, and Ezra blinked, knowing full well that this had not been the one yelling his name.

"Proceed," he muttered, confused. The soldier nodded and pass the canister to the loader up front.

"Roll 'em round!" he heard the lieutenant yell from somewhere behind him, a rumble of hooves accompanied the call as the officer danced his horse near their backs. "They're coming from the east! Get those canisters loaded boys! Hurry. They got them new fancy Spencer Carbine Rifles on 'em! We want those guns and that ammunition! Take 'em down now! No white feathers today boys! Sergeant Spencer, get them guns reset!"

"Yes sir!" Ezra yelled back, whirling around to reset his cannon's moorings. "Turn her round! Lower her head! Lower it!" he bellowed orders to the other seven men around his cannon, and they complied without question. Ezra was the best gunner on the line, they all knew it. His aim was the most accurate, his instincts the most true. Down the line, the other cannons followed his lead. Not that it really mattered. The canisters would be filled with so much shot, it would take out anything near it when it exploded, even if slightly off.

_"He's here! Oh my God! Ezra, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes? Where's Inez?"_

_"She's here, Nathan. I got her. She's moving a little."_

_"C'mon Ezra, open your eyes."_

He looked wildly around again, but no one was talking to him directly.

"Here they come!" his lieutenant yelled. "Get 'em loaded!"

From out of the mists, some five hundred yards off, a line of Union soldiers appeared out of the forest like ghosts. Up on the hill, the cannon line adjusted, loaded and prepared to fire.

_"Ezra's not responding. Get this stuff off of him now!"_

There is nothing on me, Ezra thought, confused, one hand smoothing down the gray uniform's sleeves. Around him, the others glanced at him curiously, nervously. Shaking himself, Ezra focused on the Yankee regiments bearing down on them from the trees.

"Sergeant, your picket, your call!" the lieutenant yelled.

"Hold!" the twenty-one year old Ezra shouted, his right arm raised as his left turned the elevating screw a few more times to better sight the bore. "Left flank, bear down thirty degrees. Right, mirror that! Center, lower those heads, damn it….hold!" The Union soldiers raised their fancy guns, still marching in an orderly line towards the cannons on the hill, the copper plating glinting off of their rifle's firing chambers. Ezra frowned; they had to get those rifles and that copper cased ammunition! Nothing the South had could compete with the rapid fire weapons. Those damn guns were what was causing the South to lose this war.

He had to time this perfectly. Too far away, and they wouldn't take enough of the army down. Too close, and they might not have enough time to reload for a second barrage before they were on top of them. Timing….

"Ezra! Hell and damnation! Inez, can you move? She's awake, thank God. You can move? Good. Get her out of here Buck, now!!"

His hand shook slightly where it was raised. Where those ghosts he was hearing? Who were Buck and Inez?

Pay attention Ezra!

The Union army marched closer, over the bloody remains of the first flank to go up against Ezra's cannons. Two hundred and fifty yards. They would be cut to pieces.

"FIRE!" Ezra yelled.

The thunder of the cannons shook the small hillock, causing them all to stagger. In front of them, the army fell to their deaths, screaming as the mini balls and shrapnel shattered bones and burst through chests and skulls like paper.

"RELOAD!" Ezra yelled, whipping around himself to grab another canister from the limber chest. The still standing yanks aimed and fired, the heavy gunshot of the spencer carbines echoing dully in the aftermath of the cannons. Ezra saw one of his men fall as he sponged the cannon's bore. Grabbing the rod, he completed the task.

_"He's stopped breathing! Ezra, come on! Breathe! BREATHE!"_

Ezra put a hand to his chest, his eyes wild as he stared at the boy holding the canister to his chest, waiting to load it. The boy stared back, brow furrowed, a smear of powder down his face. He hadn't said a word. Ezra finished sponging out the barrel and nodded for the boy to throw in the canister.

"Fire at will!" The lieutenant bellowed from behind them. Yelling came from the field below as the yanks charged. Ezra aimed the cannon again, turning the base to aim for the thickest contingent. Again, the other cannons mimicked his actions. As his men set the lanyard to ignite the fuse and fire, Ezra lifted his own rifle, knowing that his own store of stolen copper bullets were running low. A LeMat sat at his side, its weight comforting.

"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!" the lieutenant yelled. Suddenly, the man screamed as a lucky bullet split his forehead. Ezra's eyes widened as he realized he was now in charge.

The cannons boomed again, splitting the ranks of charging yanks, quickly cutting fifty men down to twenty. They infantrymen were now outnumbered by the confederates.

_"Ezra, it's over! Don't do this now!"_

"I don't plan on dying anytime soon!" Ezra yelled back, not caring who heard him. He pulled the LeMat from his waistband as the rifle ran out. He engaged the central canister, aiming the 16 gauge shotgun to hit the three yanks charging his position, his hands rocking back with the kick it gave.

Explosions, more explosions. Damn it, they were firing their own cannons on their artillery line! He got his knife out as a soldier got too close, slicing the blue clad man's face open.

"Maintain! Maintain!" Ezra yelled. Suddenly, he felt someone slap his face, and he fell backwards into oblivion.

_"BREATHE!"_

He breathed. Oddly, he could feel himself filling with a sudden burst of air, as if he'd been holding it this whole time. When he landed, his eyes burst open again.

And he looked up into the face of a young colored union soldier. The man was talking to him.

_"Ezra, thank god! Can you hear me? We nearly lost you. Can you move?"_

"What….?"

_"You fell. We're going to get you out of here, okay? Can you move your legs?" _

He looked around, his eyes seeing the inside of the army hospital. Doctors moved around with cruel efficiency through the gore, their hands gripping cotton presses and saws. He could smell the blood, it was thicker in the air than mint julep in July.

_"Ezra, look at me, not the saloon. I need to know, can you move?"_

He stared back up at the colored, uncomprehending. "I don't…" he whispered.

"Sergeant Spencer! What happened? You were supposed to hold that line! That picket was your responsibility."

"I'm…sorry," he replied, staring up into the face of his commander. The confederate captain grabbed his lapel.

"We lost twelve cannons, Spencer! I want to know what happened?"

_"I don't think he can hear you Nathan. Look at his eyes – he looks drunk."_

_"No, he saw me. For only a moment, Josiah, but I'm sure he saw me."_

Josiah? The colored soldier was still hovering over him, concern on his face. Concern for a Reb? How could that be? And what was he doing here? Was this a Union hospital? No, his captain was here. Wasn't he?

"Nathan?" he asked. The colored smiled, nodding. At that same moment, the confederate captain seemed to see him.

"Colored soldier!" his captain shouted, pointing at Nathan, who in turn appeared oblivious. "Colored soldier in the camp! Grab him! Grab him!" He reached his hands out.

"Nathan, RUN!" Ezra yelled, fear coursing through him. The captain stopped, staring down at him with black eyes.

"TRAITOR!" he shouted, driving a fist down on Ezra's shoulder.

Pain erupted down his arm and chest, and he screamed.

* * *


	2. deeper into the woods

**Explosions**

**Part Two**

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They placed Ezra gently into the central bed in the clinic, Josiah pressing down with all his strength on the bleeding wound on the younger man's upper shoulder. A jagged piece of wood had skewered him as he landed, upper back first, into the rubble of the saloon. Inez had clung to him, taking the brunt of the falling room above them, dazing her. She'd landed on top of him, saving her from worse injury. As it was, it looked as if she had only broken one arm, and maybe sprained an ankle, on top of a myriad of cuts and bruises that colored her small frame.

Chris was still unconscious in the next bed, one leg at an odd angle. Mary was holding a compress to the side of his bleeding head, her eyes bright with fear.

Belinda Greene pushed inside, her arms filled with herbs for Nathan's poultices from the apothecary's shop. Dropping them on the counter, she went to help Buck with Inez.

Nathan straightened Ezra's legs, hoping he hadn't made a mistake moving him. Not that they could have left him where he was, not when the saloon was still making noises like it would collapse even further. The gambler's neck wasn't broken, and his spine had felt straight…. He just didn't know. He still had no idea why Ezra hadn't been breathing when they found him. Hell, he thought the man had been dead.

"Nathan?" Josiah looked up into the healer's eyes, seeing the fear there. Nathan swallowed harshly, still hovering at the edge of the bed. "Nathan, shouldn't this wound be cleaned? And his arm looks broken. Or something looks broken."

"His collarbone, Josiah. And his right shoulder blade. And maybe his right arm." The healer still made no move. He looked stuck, as if he suddenly became aware of the damage that had been done to his friends. Insecurity wracked his tall frame, and he clenched his fists.

The preacher frowned, "Nathan…"

Suddenly Ezra's eyes flew open. "NATHAN!" he screamed, shocking Inez awake on her cot. Chris remained unmoved. "Leave him alone! VIN! VIN! Get him out of here! VIN!" The gambler started to thrash, and the healer instantly responded. He'd been afraid that Ezra had broken his back in that fall, and he couldn't help grinning stupidly as he had to work to stop Ezra's legs from moving.

Vin ran into the clinic, obviously responding to his name being called, his face drawn so tight it looked as if it would snap. Tears were running down his face, and his jaw trembled. When he saw Ezra thrashing, he jumped in to help, pressing down on Ezra's good arm as Josiah tried to restrain the gambler around the chest.

Then the man started to choke, his breath coming out in gasps. He immediately stopped thrashing as his breathing became more and more ragged.

"Damn IT!" Nathan spat, pulling away. "What the hell is wrong with him!"

* * *

"Sergeant Spencer! What is the meaning of this insubordination! Who was that colored soldier you were helping! Who is this Nathan?" The captain was shaking him, slamming him against the hospital table.

"I don't know sir! I don't know!" He coughed loudly, trying to draw in air as he felt the oxygen driven from his body. "He was here when I woke up! Please, captain, please!" Had he helped them? How could he have helped them? Hadn't it been Nathan helping him, as he always did? And, and….how did he know their names? The captain only shook him harder, making it hard to breathe and cracking his skull on the metal table.

He could feel the fluid building up in his chest from the treatment as he choked on his own saliva.

"And the boy in the Ohio Sharpshooters outfit? I suppose you don't know him either, eh? The one who got the Negro out of here? The one you called Vin?"

"No sir, please. I don't know how I…" Ezra was coughing badly now, and pain rolled up and down his chest. He wasn't going to last much longer.

"LET HIM GO!"

The captain immediately loosed his grip and pulled his revolver. Another man in Union Blue, with the stripes of a major, shot the gun out of the captain's hand before the Reb could even get it raised. This major couldn't have been more than twenty eight, with a shock of blond hair marred by a massive bloody cut to one side of his head, but his eyes were jaded with the war. Steel-green in color, they threatened to kill anyone who wronged him.

"No one hurts one of mine!" the Union major hissed, causing the confederate captain to back up a step, his bloody hand cradled to his body. Ezra's eyes widened in confusion. He tried to say that he didn't know who this man was, that he wasn't "one of his" but, when he turned his head, the confederate captain was already gone. Instead, a different face stared down at him. It was kind, with graying hair and a soothing appearance. The man wore a poncho….Where the hell did he find a poncho in Tennessee? From far way, he thought he could feel this same someone stroking his hair.

_"Son, son, can you hear me? You have to calm down, can you do that? I don't know what demons you are seeing right now, but they aren't real. You have to stay with us, Ezra. We need you here."_

Ezra blinked. He knew this man. For a moment, he thought he could see the outlines of a room – a dark, wood-paneled room. What happened to the hospital tent?

_"Ezra? Oh, Lord, Ezra, I'm sorry. If I'd been quicker with the ropes! Or found some other way…"_

Tilting his head the other way, he found himself looking at a very young man, maybe three years younger than himself, with huge blue eyes that looked bloodshot. His light brown hair was cropped short, and covered by a hat well known and greatly feared by the confederates. This sixteen year old boy in the green trimmed Union outfit must be one of the elite Ohio sharpshooters. Ezra's eyes blinked in recognition.

"Vin? Is Nathan okay? My captain tried to…" Ezra felt very strange all of a sudden. Where was he again? Oh yes…the hospital tent. He'd failed to hold the artillery line….

To his left, the boy's eyes had widened in confusion. Then he was gone, as if he never existed. In fact, everyone was gone.

Ezra sat up on his elbows, searching the suddenly empty tent.

"Sergeant Spencer! Get back out there! They need you in artillery!" It was his lieutenant's voice. His lieutenant was calling him. He had to get out there.

But wasn't his lieutenant was dead?

"Captain? Lieutenant?" He stared wildly about the tent. He was still alone. The disembodied voice got closer.

"The Yanks are sending a bunch of infantry regiments to take the hill, sergeant. I want you on the central cannon. You'll direct the men's aim. We can't let them have that hill, Spencer. General Sherman will not win this campaign, you here me?!"

"But…." Ezra started to shake, confused, his eyes closing. His back and neck hurt, and it hurt to breathe. A shadow loomed over him, causing him to open his eyes again. The Union Army major leaned over his table, fixing him with an even stare. Where had he come from?

"Ezra, don't go back out there," hissed the blond major. "You can't leave yet. We need you here."

"Who are you?" Ezra demanded, backing away as best he could to the far side of the table.

"At the moment?" The man pursed his lips into a smile, eyes as sharp as flint, "I'm your future, Ezra Standish, and I'm not letting you give up on it."

* * *

Nathan was splinting Chris's leg, wrapping cloths around it to hold the wood tight to the limb. The gunslinger had remained unresponsive throughout the whole process. The healer grimaced, hating the implications. As he laid the leg beck down, he pinched a toe on the other leg, and was pleased to see a slight reaction as Chris drew his foot away.

Sighing, he took over from Mary to take a look at the head injury. It appeared superficial, but one never knew. The fact that Chris was still out of it after an hour worried him.

"How is he?" Mary asked, trying to read Nathan's face. The healer shrugged.

"I can only repair what I see Mary. He doesn't seem to be in any pain, and his breathing is regular, so, I'm hoping he's fine."

She nodded, and cast a glance over the other two occupants. Inez was sleeping peacefully on the far cot, one arm splinted. She had been awake on and off, asking about the others, but had finally succumbed to shock and exhaustion.

Mary couldn't look at Ezra, knowing already that his features were deathly pale and that cuts and bruises riddled his body. She couldn't even stand to listen to him, to his wheezing. Nathan had straightened the bones as best he could, sewed the hole, and splinted the arm, but he had been unable to do anything for Ezra's breathing. If his lungs were filling with fluids, Nathan had informed them quietly, it was likely blood, and Ezra would die.

He just didn't know.

Vin and Josiah were still in the clinic, hovering, much to Nathan's annoyance. Buck had gone to join JD. The kid was standing guard over the ruined saloon, trying to protect it from looters.

Through the window, the sun shone brightly down on the still shocked town.

* * *

Sergeant Ezra Spencer coughed again, trying to calm his breathing down. It felt like someone had wrapped a steel band around his chest, and, no matter how much he inhaled, he couldn't fill his lungs. He shook slightly in the cold air, and tried to focus more clearly on the Union major.

"My future, eh? I very much doubt that, major. If you're trying to make me betray my countrymen, you won't succeed."

The blond man laughed, "Damn it Ezra, why in God's name did you choose the war to come back to? Betray your countrymen indeed. From what you told me, you've seen more of this country than anyone I've ever met. You're about as Southern as I am!"

"How dare you sir!" Ezra levered himself up onto his elbows. "The South is who I am, Yank, and I won't have you say otherwise."

"Alright, have it your way. But, trust me, you won't be here much longer."

"Trust you? Trust a Yank? I don't understand you sir. You make no sense!" And suddenly he was coughing again, his head pounding with the exertion. The major was by his side, holding him up, rubbing his back.

"Calm down, Ez. You'll be alright."

As soon as the coughing fit ended, Ezra put all his remaining strength into throwing the Union man off. "Leave me be!"

The major backed off, hand raised in front of him. "Okay….You realize, though, if you could remember where you really are, I'm betting that cough would go away."

Ezra glared at him.

"No, really. You had that cough when? Did you catch pneumonia during the war? Some sort of repository ailment? If you were to wake up, I bet it would fade away along with your memories of this place."

"You're mad."

"Ezra, I'm not the one having delusions. Now wake up. You're making Nathan crazy."

Ezra's breathing worsened as his heart beat faster, his eyes fixed on this madman before him. "What the Hell are you talking about, Chris? Wake up? I am awake!"

"Oh, you used my name. Good!" Major Chris Larabee grinned.

"SERGEANT SPENCER, front and center! Get out here, now!" his lieutenant's voice, again. His dead lieutenant.

Was he dead as well? He stared up at the major, then moved to get up off the table.

"No, Ezra, don't," Chris said to him, gripping his arm.

"I don't know you! I don't!" Ezra pushed himself away, to fall to his knees on the grass and dirt floor of the hospital tent.

Voices rang around him again, and he looked around. He could smell the woods, and the cannon shot. Grass, brown mud, broken bodies, blood. "I have to go, Chris. I have to!"

"No!" the Union major lunged, trying to grab the younger man's arm, but Ezra was too quick. He pushed back the tent flap and slipped back out into the daylight.

The light was blinding….

* * *

"HOLD HIM!" Nathan gripped Ezra's arms as he thrashed again, heat rolling off of his body in waves. "Damn it, what is wrong with him? More of this and the bones will come unset. Josiah!"

"I'm trying," the preacher grunted, almost sitting on top of Ezra's legs. Vin, who was sitting by a still comatose Chris, watched with liquid eyes.

Abruptly, Ezra stilled, his body arching against the weight, before falling back into a heap on the bed. His eyes fluttered open, and he began to shake.

"Chris?" a small voice asked, the southern accent almost invisible.

"Ezra? Can you here me?" Nathan knelt down beside his head, his hands running across the collarbone and slipping under the bandage on his shoulder. "Ezra, please, you have to break out of this. Chris is fine. He's here, with us. You have to calm down."

But the green eyes were already closed.

"Damn," the healer stood, his arms shaking from the exertion of trying to keep his friend still. He looked over at Vin, who had shut his own eyes, then at Josiah. The preacher was staring at Ezra with a closed expression, hiding his emotions. Nathan sighed. "Josiah, could you go and get me some rope?"

The preacher looked up, startled. "What?"

"I have to restrain him, Josiah. He was lucky this time, but…." He shook his head, and went back to feeling down Ezra back and arm for any other damage. After a moment, Josiah simply nodded.

"I'll get some new rope from Mrs. Potter. I think she got some new supplies the other day."

Nathan just shrugged, unable to look at this old friend any longer. He heard Josiah stand and leave, before he himself fell back into a chair by the bed. Ezra was unresponsive again, his breathing sounding even worse than before.

"He talked about his captain," Vin said, his face dark. "Think he meant the war?"

Nathan looked up, and shook his head to say he didn't know.

"That's an awful place to be," Vin continued, watching Ezra. "I always figured he was one of those that slithered his way out of joining, what with that silver tongue of his and all."

"Maybe he meant a boat captain?" Nathan suggested, wiping a cloth across Ezra's brow to get rid of some of the sweat from the fever.

"Maybe," the sharpshooter frowned, and looked back down at Chris. The blond still hadn't moved. Compared to Ezra, he looked very peaceful. "Doubt it though."

"Will…will he be alright?" Inez was pushing herself up on her elbows, watching them from her cot. She had pushed back the curtain Nathan had set up to separate her from the men, and her brown eyes were on Ezra.

Nathan frowned, turning to her. "You should be resting."

"Resting? Nathan, my home is ruined; I have no job anymore; my best friend is dying, and you want me to rest?" She put just enough venom into the statement to get Nathan to smile. But Inez's anger faded quickly, leaving her only her loneliness.

"Is he dying, Nathan?" she asked again, her eyes bright.

Nathan looked back at Ezra, and lowered his head. Over by Chris, Vin gritted his teeth, stood, and, after touched his best friend lightly on his good leg, left.

Outside, the day shone bright and beautiful, with nary a cloud in the sky. Normally, Vin would have his head up, taking in the scents of the coming of spring, but instead he walked with his head to the ground, eyes focused on nothing more than the filth of the road beneath his feet.

"Hey Vin," Buck's tired voice drifted out across the street, causing the younger man to look up. Buck was standing inside the ruined saloon with a few other men from town, working to move the debris into piles and looking to see what could be salvaged. Vin could see that shoring timbers had been put in place to hold up Ezra's room, which was visible for all the world to see. Instantly, Vin turned his head.

It felt like he was invading somehow.

He continued to walk listlessly down the street, stopping only when he saw JD looking equally as miserable in front of the jail. The kid looked up when Vin sat down next to him, but otherwise made no sound.

"JD?" Mary sidled up, a basket of sheets under her arm. "Did you telegraph the consortium that owns the saloon, the one that Mr. Travers works for? And Maude?"

JD grimaced, sighed, and looked up, all in that order. "Yes ma'am, I did. Though I don't expect word for a while."

"Ah," she twisted her lips in thought and stared back at the saloon over her shoulder. "You know…it will be all right, JD," she said softly. "It will."

"Yes ma'am." The reply was less than assuring. Mary glanced once more at the boy, and at the man sitting next to him. Vin stared out at the street like a man unhinged. With a slump of her shoulders, she nodded farewell and turned back to head towards the clinic.

A few minutes later, Josiah walked past with a coil of rope over his shoulder. He nodded at them as well. When they didn't respond, he gripped the coil tighter. Too many people to mend, he thought sadly. What a mess. Resolving to return once he'd helped Nathan with Ezra, the preacher forced himself to keep moving.

Buck shifted a particularly heavy board, taking out his frustrations on the wood, enjoying the feel of pain in his muscles as he strained them. He didn't look up as Josiah passed, his mouth set in a grim line as he chucked the board to one side. He didn't want to think about anyone but himself and this saloon right now, about putting it back together as soon as possible.

Out of the corner of his eye, though, he caught Vin and JD over by the jail.

He watched them for a moment, hands tight around a thin piece of ceiling.

"Thunder and Lightening," he swore, tossing the board down. "I'm taking a break," he announced to the others helping him. They nodded.

"'Bout time," Yosemite muttered under his breath, pulling another bit of kindling from off the floor.

Gathering himself up, the ladies man stormed across to the jail, not caring that dirt and sawdust billowed off of him in waves as he moved. When he stood before them, his expression was darker than a storm cloud forming a tornado.

"You boys done feeling sorry for yourselves yet?"

Both jumped, though Vin offered Buck a glower while JD simply frowned.

"What?" the tracker asked.

"You heard me. I know what is going on in those puny little minds of yours. You think that, if you had somehow gotten to them sooner, or come up with a better plan, that maybe they wouldn't be up in that clinic now. Am I right?" His voice was demanding, and JD physically shied from the confrontation. Vin just stared back, anger born of frustration beginning to bubble beneath his typically calm exterior.

"You weren't there Buck. We should have gotten to 'em."

The ladies man laughed, staring up into the sky as if for answers. "Wonderful! Throw that in my face, Vin! You think I'm not fully aware of the fact that all I did was yell at Ezra to shut up? You think I'm not over at that damned saloon trying to forget that Chris ain't flicked an eyelid since we found him? I wasn't there, you tell me. Well thank you very much."

Vin frowned, "Buck, I…"

"No, no. I don't want to hear it Vin. You boys don't have the lion's share of the guilt here, okay? So you couldn't get to them in time. Was there any way you could've? No! Because there were those damned bank robbers shooting holes in things to deal with first! The ones, I might remind you, who threw the dynamite? Now, get up off you keesters and do something worthwhile for a change instead of just wallowing in your self-pity."

JD's shoulders had slumped so far down, he looked as if he'd lost about two inches off his height. "I'm sorry, Buck," he said quietly. "I'll come help with the saloon."

"First you're going to go check up on those in the clinic, boy. Then you can come help. Why ain't you been there yet, huh?"

JD's eyes flashed with unshed tears as he stared up at his mentor. "Well, I, uh, someone had to protect the saloon from looters," he offered quietly.

Buck nodded, "Oh, and nice job you're doing to," he replied sarcastically. "Protecting the saloon while sitting in front of the jail with your head in you lap and your rifle sitting on the desk inside. Very effective."

"Buck…."

"Get your ass over to the clinic and see your friends JD. Now. Vin, you come with me."

Turning on his heel, Buck stalked off the way he came, not caring to see whether his orders were adhered to. After a moment, Vin cleared his throat.

"What got up his craw?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face. JD answered with a smile of his own, and stood up.

"Well, I best be heading over to the clinic, to check on the others," the kid said weakly.

"And I guess I'll be at the saloon helping Buck when you're done," Vin agreed, getting up as well. Both feeling a bit lighter, the two men held their light smiles as they stepped off the boardwalk together.

* * *

_**Georgia, summer, 1864, still on the wrong side of Sherman's Campaign.**_

Ezra fingered the stripes on his arms, annoyed at the responsibility they suggested. The worst part was the medal he now had tucked away inside a small box in his bags. The idiots had actually commended him for bravery when all he had been doing was trying to save his own life. Well, his own life and those of his men. The result? Fools had given him a damned field promotion to lieutenant. Lieutenant! It was absurd.

Lieutenants were officers. Men with money and class. Ezra had class -- at least in his own opinion -- but money was something he was sorely lacking in at the moment. There was a couple hundred tucked in his boots (Union money, just in case). It was more, he knew, than most of the men around him had combined, but two hundred dollars was pittance compared to what some of the officered men had. His lips curled in derision, unable to stop themselves. Like all enlisted men, he really hated the brass.

Well, except for Joe Johnston. But he was gone. Sent north by Davis to North Carolina. General Hood was in charge now.

Hood the madman.

It was summer now, and the Georgia sunshine was beating down without mercy on the gray clad men, making their filthy clothes itch and smell more every day. Pushing through the swamps hadn't helped either. Hood had been sending them in assault after assault against Sherman's army, trying to break through the Yankee defense, but it was like trying to turn back a flood. At least under Johnston they had been whittling down the yanks, forcing them to hold as their numbers decreased in size. They might have had a chance given time. Now Hood had managed to kill more Rebels in the past month than Johnston had all year, and Sherman was so close to Atlanta the steeples were visible above the forest line.

Now, it really was just a matter of days.

Ezra and his men had been sent south and west, their orders to try and ring around the men Sherman had set up there, and cut off their supplies. In other words, they were being ordered to warp the train tracks.

Of course, a week ago, they'd been out there repairing those self same tracks to get supplies for themselves.

God, this was a stupid, stupid way to fight. So, Ezra decided a little bit more than simply destroying the tracks might be in order. He'd steal the Yankee's supplies while he was at it.

The erstwhile riverboat gambler lay on his stomach, watching the small contingent of Union soldiers standing guard on the tracks, awaiting the train. It was due in about half an hour, and Ezra planned to have his small platoon wearing those union uniforms when it arrived.

He grinned, flashing his gold tooth. They'd never know what hit them.

"So where are we now?" a low voice asked, as someone kneeled next to him. Ezra nearly jumped out of his skin, and he pulled the knife from his belt to point at the intruder. He saw the light blue pants first, then the navy jacket with its yellow stripes, and finally, he saw the man's face.

"Chris?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"We're in Georgia, I take it?" the union major replied, looking around, then he looked at Ezra. "Oh, and you're a lieutenant now. Congratulations." He smiled, causing Ezra to shift backwards and grip the knife tighter, loudly rustling the dead leaves on the ground as he moved. Over by the train depot, one of the Union soldiers looked in his general direction at the sound, peering into the woods with a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

"What…who are you?" Ezra hissed.

"You know who I am, Ezra. And, you know, if this is a raid, you really should be keeping your voice down. Where are the rest of your men?"

Ezra's eyes narrowed to slits, the knife in his hand steadying. "My men are of no consequence to you, Larabee. And, as of this moment, you are my prisoner. Lay down your arms and lie face down."

"Or what, you'll knife me? Please. You hate blood. Now, if that had been a gun, I might have been a little more believing, since that requires far less mess." He sat back, to fall with an audible thump on his behind. "So, what's the story? You gonna attack these soldiers or what?"

Ezra just stared at him, wide-eyed and unbelieving. "I said, lie down, Larabee."

"Make me."

Gritting his teeth, Ezra drew the revolver he had in his crossdraw holster and pointed it at Chris. The major watched with amusement.

"There, feel better?" the confederate lieutenant asked. "I have a gun now. So, lie down and shut the hell up before I use it."

"Uh oh," Chris grinned, "I think you've been noticed," indicating with a jut of the chin the soldiers at the depot. Swinging around, Ezra froze as he noticed two Yankee privates heading in his direction.

Hell and Damnation!

He searched the other side of the forest line for his men, and saw one of them waving desperately towards his hiding place. Looking to his left and right, he saw the others were in place as well. Nodding, he pulled off his hat and waved it back.

Now or never!

He raised the gun, having completely forgotten about the union major standing behind him, and aimed at the closest soldier.

Suddenly, he felt an arm around his neck, throwing off his aim, and he shot harmlessly into the air.

"Let go of me!" he screamed, just as gunfire ripped out of the trees to attack the men at the depot. Already on guard, most of them managed to find cover, and were returning fire diligently. Meanwhile, Chris gripped Ezra tighter around the neck and started pulling him backwards, away from the fight.

Desperate, Ezra drove an elbow into Chris's side, but the man didn't flinch, almost as if he couldn't feel it. Once more, the gambler could feel his air being cut off, and he started gasping for breathe. As if sensing this, Chris let go, after having only dragged Ezra maybe twenty yards deeper into the woods. He dropped the gasping man to the ground, letting Ezra fall into a prone position.

His limbs felt like they were on fire, and something felt like it was cutting across them, preventing them from being moved. His shoulder in particular felt like someone was running a hot poker through it.

"What have you done to me!" he demanded, struggling to stand. He failed, and landed in a heap on the ground again. Chris shook his head.

"Nothing. Though I think Nathan may have restrained you with some ropes. You broke your collarbone and I think your arm, but you were thrashing around so much, he was afraid you'd ruin the work he did to set them. You really are causing the poor man heartache, you know. He can't figure out what is wrong with you." He smiled suddenly, "Not that any of us can ever figure out what's wrong with you even when you're healthy," he quipped.

"Did you say Nathan?" Ezra stopped trying to move, and his mind tripped a little. The colored soldier?

"Yes, Nathan," the major replied. "You know who he is, right? I saw you help him back in that hospital tent."

Ezra just looked at Chris, green eyes completely confused. In a vague motion, one hand went to his neck, trying to get his breathing under control. He was wheezing again, as the excitement worsened his still lingering consumption. Chris frowned, and kneeled next to him on the ground.

"I don't know why you're here, Ezra. But I really think you should snap out of it. The way you're remembering this part of your life, you'll more likely die before you'll let yourself return. I'm not going to let you die on me, not here."

Ezra just blinked, unable to respond. Chris's eyes narrowed.

"Do you understand me, Ezra? This isn't real. You have to wake up. If you come with me, I'll take you home, okay?" He stood up again and held a hand out.

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Spencer!" a Rebel private charged out of the woods, to see Ezra on the ground and a Union major standing over him. Without second thought, the boy lifted his rifle and aimed.

"No WAIT!" Ezra screamed reaching out, but it was too late. The shot rang through the small clearing, killing the union major instantly.

* * *

**Continued and Concluded in Parts 3 and 4**


	3. the failures of success

**Explosions**

**Part Three**

Chris jerked, causing Mary to jump, and his eyes flew open. He stared at the surprised woman standing above him for a second before twisting bodily to look over at Ezra on the next bed.

"Chris!" Mary said happily, "Nathan, Chris is awake!"

The healer looked over from where he was tying off the last rope holding Ezra down. His face split into a grin, and Josiah sighed his thanks to the air.

Chris just frowned, then grimaced as pain exploded through his head at the movement. He reached up a hand to his head, only to have Mary grab it and pull it away.

"You have a nasty gash on you head, Chris. Don't touch it."

The gunslinger stared up at her, then gripped the hand that held his. "You have to wake up Ezra," he hissed, a hoarse quality to his otherwise solid voice. Mary blinked, and turned to Nathan as the healer came to kneel next to the bed.

"Hey Chris, you had us scared for a while. You managed to break a leg, but otherwise you're okay. You up for drinking some water?"

Chris narrowed his eyes, blinking tiredly. "Nathan, Ezra…you have to wake him up. You have to find a way."

Nathan frowned, "Chris…Ezra is awake. Sort of. And how did you know…."

"No, no, he's not. You have to bring him back here. Talk to him, call him back. You have to…" he started to cough, just as Josiah came up with a cup of water in his hand. The preacher handed it to Nathan.

"Drink this, Chris. You lost a lot of blood out of that head of yours. It'll give you a massive headache soon enough. We need to replenish your fluids, okay?" As he spoke, the healer raised the cup to Chris's lips.

Abruptly, Chris grabbed the cup from Nathan's hand and drank the proffered drink, taking it in one gulp. Nathan's eyebrows raised slightly as the gunslinger then threw the cup across the room.

"Now listen to me," he said, grabbing the healer's arm. "I'm not crazy. Ezra's lost. You have to bring him back. Talk to him, yell at him, anything. I saw him respond to you, Josiah and Vin….but especially Josiah. He could almost see where he was then." He looked over Nathan's shoulder to the older man. "You weren't in the war, were you preacher?"

Josiah frowned, "The war? The war between the states, you mean? No. I was still in southern California then."

"That's why. You talk to him. And get JD to talk to him too. I'm betting…" he grimaced suddenly as a particularly sharp stab of pain screamed down the side of his face. "Ow," he muttered, letting go of Nathan to try and hold his head again.

"I'm sorry Chris, I didn't want to give you anything for the pain until I was sure you would stay awake." Nathan was watching him warily now, as one might someone they think might be a little crazy. Chris groaned and sank back down to put his head on the pillow. At least his leg didn't hurt too much. It was mostly just a dull throb.

"Talk to him, Josiah. Remind him of where he really is," Chris begged, closing his eyes.

Nathan watched with a frown as Chris's breathing evened out again, and the man succumbed to sleep. He'd have to keep waking him up now, to make sure that the concussion didn't keep the gunslinger asleep permanently.

"Nathan?" Mary asked, standing with her arms crossed.

"He's fine, Mary. Now that he's woken up. He should be alright."

"Yes, but what about what he said about…"

"I don't know. Somehow, he must have heard us talking about Ezra. Heard Vin when he mentioned that Ezra asked about his captain, and the war. He's probably just a bit mixed up."

Mary frowned, but didn't disagree. Instead, she just sat back down and went back to holding Chris's hand. Nathan stood and stretched, then looked back at Ezra, and then beyond to where Mrs. Greene was still sitting with a sleeping Inez.

"Mrs. Greene, could you do me a favor? Could you go tell the others that Chris woke up?" The apothecary's wife stood with a nod, and tucked the hand she'd been holding back under the covers. Inez didn't stir, just muttered something in Spanish. As she reached the door, she jumped back slightly as it swung open on its own.

As if he'd heard Chris's summons, JD stood at the open door, finding several pairs of eyes watching him curiously as the winter winds blew in past him.

"I came to…" he waved at the beds, "to see how they were."

Josiah grinned, "Perfect timing, son."

* * *

After Major Larabee fell, he disappeared, and so had the confederate private – Lassiter, Ezra remembered, Private Tommy Lassiter – who had shot him. This left the young lieutenant alone in the clearing, marveling somewhat at the silence that had descended. It was as if time had stopped, erasing all the sounds of the forest and the war beyond, leaving nothing moving except him.

He sat down, noticing that the leaves beneath his feet never made a sound, and breathed slowly. He was wheezing again, not too surprisingly, the pervasive rattle of the consumption he'd contracted almost two years ago still with him. It had, luckily, not been too debilitating, and he'd bounced back after a few months from a disease that killed most everyone else. But, occasionally, especially in the winter, or when he became too excited, it would come back to haunt him. It faded more each time, showing his lungs were healing, but it bothered him still.

So, his lungs rattled, and his throat wheezed, the only sounds in the small, bright, damp clearing.

Gently, he lifted up a dead leaf, feeling the wet stickiness of the swamps on it. It glistened in the sunlight streaming through the branches above, but only dully.

Was this not real?

And yet, there were no sounds, not too mention that he'd just seen someone shot and disappear. It was someone he knew he had met far from here, in a different era of his life, years in the future, someone he respected and…worked for, someone who had tried to tell him that this wasn't reality and that he needed to get home.

If he thought about it, he could feel the sensation of ropes digging into his skin, and the burning in his chest, shoulder and arm belied the healthy look of the limbs before him.

"Lieutenant Spencer?"

He looked up to see the private, Private Lassiter, staring down at him, worry bright in the younger man's eyes.

"Lieutenant Spencer, the raid failed. Everyone is dead. We're all that is left."

Ezra frowned. That wasn't right. The raid had been a success. He remembered being praised for it by one of the Colonels.

How can he remember being praised if it hadn't happened yet?

He put the leaf down, and struggled to his feet, brushing the muck from his dark gray trousers.

"Sir, there are more Union soldiers coming. If we don't leave, they'll capture us."

"Let them," Ezra replied darkly.

The private frowned, "What?"

"Get out of here, Private Lassiter. Rejoin the others."

"Sir, I'm not going to leave you. They…they might kill you."

"Yes, they might."

"Sir?" Private Lassiter stepped away, his dark brown eyes narrowing.

Ezra didn't respond, just put his hands over his eyes, blocking the scenery from his mind. "I just want to go home…" he moaned quietly.

"Well, Captain Spencer, while I can sympathize with that statement, I am afraid it is simply not a good enough excuse for desertion."

Ezra's hands dropped from his face, startled. He was standing in a clearing still, but a vastly different one. It was much colder, and the trees of the south were replaced by the pine and maple of North Carolina. Moonlight filtered down from above through budding branches to bathe him in an ashen glow, his face and gray clothes becoming almost one color. His eyes widened as he stared into the face of his commander. General Joseph E. Johnston stared back, his face twisted in a grimace, disgust and understanding warring for attention on his august features.

"General?" Ezra asked, green eyes wide.

* * *

**Retreating after Bentonville, North Carolina, late March 1865, as usual on the wrong side of Sherman's Campaign.**

Around him stood a whole array of soldiers in gray, several of them with their guns raised, pointing at him. General Johnston had come for him himself, Ezra realized with a groan. Johnston may have been the curse that got him into this war, but he was also one of the few men Ezra truly admired.

The General was a hero in Ezra's mind, even if he had finally had to succumb to the greater forces of the Union army in this, the Carolina Campaign. They lost at Bentonville, and were now retreating North to Raleigh, Sherman dead on their heels. Ezra had decided this would be a good time to run before it was too late, having already concluded a long time ago that the South would lose this war. He had no desire to spend the rest of it as a prisoner or dead for nothing more than his respect for this man before him.

So, he had deserted…

…and had been caught.

"Well, Captain Spencer, I had thought you would have more honor than this. I brought you into this war, and promoted you, all because I believed in you. And this is how you repay me. By deserting in the dead of night, leaving your comrades to face the cannons alone in the morning without their Captain to lead them in the counterattack." Johnston's voice was cold and tired. He was clearly demonstrating to the young man that he did not have time for this.

"You came after me yourself?" Ezra replied sadly. "I wouldn't have thought a mere field captain would have deserved such an honor." If there was sarcasm in the statement, it was drowned in the sorrow of a man who knew his entire life had been and would always be a failure.

"Yes, son. I came after you myself. These men here," he nodded to the others in the clearing, a mixture of ranks and ages, not normal soldiers, "are my friends. They know that I once was very proud of you. You acquitted yourself with great spirit in this war, despite the losses in Tennessee and the failed raid in Georgia. I would send for information about your career, after they posted you to General Hood and I was sent up here. I still had faith in you, because I thought there was a greatness in you. When they told me I would be in charge of the Army of Tennessee again, and I learned that you were still part of it, I looked forward to seeing you again, to butting heads with you. I was almost as proud of you as if you had been my own…." He frowned, sensing, perhaps, that he was getting a touch maudlin. "But you have deserted, Ezra Spencer. For that, you will stand trial, and I will not be the one to help you." He stopped again, the frown deepening as he crossed his arms. "You disappoint me, Ezra."

Ezra was only half listening, his eyes staring at the ground at the General's feet.

He never knew the General had been proud of him. Oh, sure, he sensed it, and maybe guessed at it when he was transferred and promoted by the General himself. But he never actually heard him say it. He'd heard others comment that he was one of the General's favorites, and was even made fun of once when someone suggested he was Johnston's bastard son…but he'd never heard it from the actual General's lips.

He had never heard it.

Because the General had never told him. Never.

Especially not after Ezra deserted. He'd never heard from the General again, though the man was still alive somewhere.

Bright light seemed to flash through his head, and he tilted his face up to look at the older man in front of him, moonlight shining off the stars on the man's collar. The General was holding onto the short graying beard at his chin with his hand, smoothing it into the V shape that had become the handsome older man's trademark.

"Wait a minute…," Ezra said slowly, watching those grim, gaunt features. "I deserted, General, yes…but I wasn't caught."

The General just stared at him, the frown lessening slightly at the bewildering statement. The hand fell away from his beard to rest in a fist at his hip.

"What?"

"I wasn't caught," Ezra maintained, almost arguing. "I managed to get away, and I cut around the armies. I was in Kentucky somewhere when I learned of your armistice with Sherman in April."

"Ezra, what are you talking about," Johnston huffed. "It's still March."

"This war will be over in a month, General."

"Stop talking nonsense, boy. You are not a soothsayer."

"Don't you see, General? This isn't real. I'm torturing myself, don't you see? I never felt guilty about deserting the Rebs before, except about possibly disappointing you."

The General's jaw clenched, "Ezra, I do not know what game you are playing, but feigning madness will not help you at trial."

Ezra grinned suddenly and shook his head. "Oh, nothing can help me now, General. See, I just figured it out. I'm dead…and this is my hell. To relive the war, with all my successes turned into failures."

"Ezra…."

"The raid in Georgia on the train was a success, General. Except…Private Lassiter, the one who shot Chris? He died. He got a bullet in the side, and bled to death because I couldn't get him back to camp in time, not if we were to hold on to the supplies. I remember that now. I killed him because of those supplies….and my guilt brought him back to life in this, my own private hell." He laughed, and Johnston took a small step back.

"And that cannon run in Tennessee, back when I was a sergeant over a year ago?" He looked at Johnston, who had raised his chin slightly, his sharp eyes black in the low light. Ezra smiled, "In this place, Captain Michaels berated me in the hospital tent for losing that battle, saying that I lost twelve cannons. But I won that day, General. I even earned a medal. See, both Captain Micheals and my lieutenant were killed, and I was left in charge of that side of the battle. We succeeded in crushing the Union forces and holding that hillside for a few more days with very few losses on our side. But…it was also my bloodiest hour, General. I killed more men that day than any other in the war." He grimaced, remembering the sickening feel of looking down at the field of dead Union soldiers and their horses, aware that it had been his cannons that had brought them down.

"Captain Spencer, you are actually beginning to worry me. Come on, let's get you back to see the doctor," the General soothed, consternation thickening his tongue.

"Chris, he tried to help me. Tried to explain to me where I was, but I killed him before he could. I wonder if he is dead too. If so, I hope he is with his wife and son now, and no longer concerned about me. At least, I know he is not here anymore…." He looked around, as if looking for someone.

"Ezra, son…"

Ezra's eyes flashed at the familiar term, turning back to the General. "I always hated it when other people called me that, General. Except you. I liked it when you called me son, maybe cause part of me hoped it was true. And now Josiah. He calls me son all the time, General, just as you did, and at first I fought against it, perhaps in your memory. But I've gotten used to it now. And…I miss hearing him say it." He lowered his gaze again, the youth in his voice leaving as his face seemed to age slightly.

"I'm taking you back now, Spencer."

"Standish," Ezra corrected. "Ezra P. Standish, at your service," grinning again suddenly, he pulled the card he found up his sleeve and tossed it over to Johnston. The General's face was one of confusion as he looked at the ace of spades in his hand.

"The death card," the older man stated.

"Oh no, General. Some may believe so, but a fortune teller can tell you that the ace of spades can also represent the ace of pentacles in a tarot deck. It is the card of intelligence, character and wit, of mastery of the arts, the trades and professions, and, of course, the card of wealth and money. Reversed, it smacks of greed and corruption, of weakness and, my favorite, of gambling."

"Really," the General stated coldly, handing the card back.

"Spades are also the highest suit in the deck," Ezra continued, accepting it. "The ace, therefore, it the most powerful card in a poker game." He turned the card over, the pocketed in his waistcoat pocket, not noticing that he was no longer wearing confederate Gray. His eyes took on a pensive gaze, as he patted the card in place.

"Of course, perhaps now you are right. Perhaps now it does merely mean death."

"Captain, you are out of uniform," Johnston said angrily, though his voice sounded oddly faded. Ezra looked down to see he was wearing his red coat, maroon brocade waistcoat and dark pinstriped pants. The General took another step back, almost near the trees. The other soldiers had already gone.

"So it has," Ezra noted quietly, brushing some of the North Carolina dirt from his shirtsleeves. Looking up, a thirty two year old man's face had replaced that of the twenty-two year old, and Ezra found that he was alone again in a clearing. The sky above was brightening as false dawn interrupted the night.

"Well," he said to himself, looking around, then down at his clothes again. "I suppose that, if I must be in hell, or purgatory, or wherever this is, at least I may as well look good." He straightened, and felt a twinge in his shoulder again. How odd that he should feel pain in death.

_"Hey Ez. Can you hear me?"_

The gambler stopped brushing himself off. Dawn broke as he watched the trees around him.

_"Ezra, I just wanted to say that I'm awfully sorry. Me and Vin, see, we thought we were so clever, you know? Rigging up those ropes and all. We were so sure we would get to you."_

"JD?" Ezra looked up at the blue sky through the budding branches.

_"Hey, he said my name!"_

_"Yeah, he does that sometimes. I'm not sure if that really means he knows we're here or where he is, though."_

"Josiah?" Ezra squinted, recognizing the two voices distinctly though he couldn't see them. Slowly, he could make out Josiah and JD sitting on a pair of chairs beneath one of the large maple trees, talking to each other. When he called the preacher's name, however, the large man looked over. Suddenly, he was right there, looking down at where Ezra was lying on the ground, a heavy hand caressing on the younger man's forehead.

_"Can you see me, son?"_ Josiah asked. Then, more clearly, as his features seemed to become more lively, "Do you know where you are?"

* * *

"Ezra?" JD was biting his lip where he too looked down at Ezra's face. "Chris said we should talk to you. We've been trying for the past fifteen minutes. Can you hear me?"

Ezra stared up at them, eyes wide open. He looked at the boy, "JD…where…what happened?"

"Me and Vin didn't manage to get to you in time, Ez. We're so sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Ezra just blinked at him, then past him. The trees and sky were gone, replaced by the dark brown slats of Nathan's clinic.

"Am…am I still dead?" Ezra asked then, looking back at the boy. JD had never been in the war. He wouldn't even have been in the double digits then. Or, if he had, he would have been ten or eleven at the most and still living in Boston. And Josiah…was probably in California somewhere, or abroad. How could they be in his hell if they weren't in the war….

"You're not dead, Ezra," Josiah said quietly, absently brushing his hand through Ezra's hair. "You never were. Just lost for a while, I should think."

"Lost?"

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling?" JD said, leaning forward on his knees.

Ezra had to think about this for a minute, sending questions down his extremities and feeling the dull pain in his shoulder and arm. The ropes were more obvious now.

"Am I tied down?" he asked, his tone a little accusatory as he looked up at Josiah. The preacher smiled crookedly.

"Nathan said he had to do it to stop you from thrashing so much," JD supplied. "But if you're awake now, maybe he can untie you."

Ezra nodded, swallowing some of the bile that had risen in his mouth. Josiah, sensing his need, brought a cup of water to his lips, which the younger man drank greedily.

"Nathan's just popped out to get a quick bite. Want me or JD to go get him?" Josiah asked.

Ezra's eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head, ignoring the pain it caused to his throbbing skull. "No, God no. Please. Both of you, stay, okay? And talk to me? Please?" He tried to reach for JD with his good hand, but it was lashed down. JD grabbed it anyway.

"Sure, Ezra. We won't leave you…I promise." JD's smile lit up his face, and on the other side of the bed, Josiah nodded solemnly. The preacher then glanced across to Chris's sleeping form with a trace of wonder, wondering how the gunslinger had known that Ezra would need them. The gambler didn't notice Josiah's glance, instead smiling back at JD.

"Thank you," Ezra said thickly, "thank you. I think I will have to hold you both to that for a while." He let the warmth of JD's hand in his warm up his entire soul, letting it wash away the cold of his memories.

* * *

**Part Four**

**Four Corners, Two Weeks Later**

Chris frowned up at Ezra, who was allowing Nathan to finish dressing him by draping the navy coat over his shoulders. They had been recuperating together at the clinic now for almost two weeks, and, today, Nathan was finally letting Ezra go. Chris, because of his leg, was being forced to stay in the clinic another week, until he could put enough weight on the leg to use crutches without damaging it too much. Needless to say, Chris was somewhat pissed off. Inez had been allowed to leave after only a few days. She had moved in with Mary until something could be done with the saloon.

Over by the open door, where the spring like air was seeping into the room along with a healthy does of sunlight, the others were all lounging about watching. Ezra eyed them curiously, wondering why they were all here, but so far hadn't said anything. They watched him with a variety of lopsided grins.

"You ready for this Ezra?" Nathan asked, a hint of a smile on the healer's face as he brushed down the empty sleeve where Ezra's arm was still in a snug sling. Then he pulled the edges of the coat together so Ezra was mostly covered. Ezra suffered the indignity of being dressed like a child with as much grace as he could muster.

"Certainly, Mr. Jackson. As I understand it, Miss Virginia was kind enough to give me back my old room at the boarding house for the duration, and all my things have been moved there. However, I must censure you for not telling me what is happening with the saloon." He offered Nathan a sidelong glance, and the healer shrugged.

"Well, until today, we weren't sure what was happening. Josiah donated wood to fix it, and some rebuilding has been done, but all out of our pockets."

"And backs," Buck added, pretending a groan and placing a hand to his lower back.

Nathan smiled. "Yeah, well, anyway, we didn't want you to worry, so we didn't say anything about the fact that we didn't know."

"But now you do know. So…?" Ezra lifted eyebrows, but Nathan didn't answer the implied question, his lips shutting firmly into a thin line. Over by the door, Ezra thought he heard Buck snicker.

"Is there something I should be made aware of, Mr. Wilmington?" the gambler asked, looking again over at the tall man by the door, then at the healer. Nathan's eyes were watching the floorboards.

"Ezra, just get out of here and find out for yourself, damn it," Chris growled from his bed. He was sitting up, trying to look nonchalant despite the long cast on his leg. "I'm tired of hearing you yapping. It's bad enough I had to put up with it this whole past week, since you woke up proper."

Ezra turned a bright smile on his fellow injured companion, and Chris returned it with a dark look. When he had first awoken, Ezra had been watching Chris carefully, thinking about the role his leader had had in his…dream, I guess you'd call it. Occasionally, he'd also spot Chris watching him with a strange air, as if apprehensive about something, but the older man had never spoken about what it was. It had unnerved Ezra slightly, and he had consciously been even more garrulous than usual this past week, until Chris's features had returned to their usual state of being annoyed with the gambler. It reminded Ezra of how much he enjoyed annoying the gunslinger.

"Well, Mr. Larabee, when you put it that way, I'm almost tempted not to leave at all."

Chris literally growled like a dog in response, and Ezra's smile widened. Then he looked back at the door, noting that the lopsided grins had broadened to become more wicked, and his own smile became more calculating in response.

"For certain," he said, "I am not leaving until one of those awful men I once considered friends explains to me what it is they find so amusing."

"Aw heck, Ez," Vin said, stepping forward, "we're just so pleased that you moving around, is all."

"Oh really, Mr. Tanner."

"Sure."

"You are, as always, a terrible liar, Vin."

"Me?" Vin pointed to his heart, his fingers shaped into a gun, and Ezra had a strange flashback, thinking, for a moment, he could see that arm encased in military blue and trimmed with green. Vin had just mimicked their salute. But Vin was from Texas, not Ohio.

"Indeed," Ezra replied, his joviality disappearing. Without realizing it, he found himself continuing to watch Vin, and the younger man's face fell under the scrutiny. Finally, Vin frowned.

"Well, I ain't gonna tell you about the saloon, so you best just come and figure it out for yourself," the tracker stated, stepping back and pointing to the outside, thinking this was what Ezra's expression had to do with. But Ezra surprised him.

"Were you in the war, Vin?"

The question was so out of the blue, that Vin's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "What?"

"In the war. Were you in it?"

Vin's mouth closed. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Yes."

"As what?"

"A Union sharpshooter."

"Ohio regiment?"

Vin's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open.

"Don't be silly, Ezra. Vin's from Texas," JD said.

"Just 'cause that's the direction he came from when meeting us, don't mean he spent his whole life there, kid," Buck said, watching Vin. The tracker's expression was shocked, to say the least.

"One of Sherman's Bodyguard's maybe?" Ezra asked, tilting his head.

Vin shut his mouth, and nodded.

"Interesting," Ezra replied, shifting a little in his coat. His expression had darkened, the smile gone from his face. He didn't know what had caused him to ask the question exactly, but the answer was frightening, though he had somewhat expected it. He covered his discomfort by examining the empty sleeve on his jacket for frayed threads.

Vin cleared his throat.

"I am from Texas, JD. But I moved to Ohio just before the war so as I could join the Union army. I weren't old enough until it was almost half over, which was when I joined the Seventh Ohio Sharpshooters," Vin said this all quietly, though he was watching Ezra. "Then I moved back home again after it was all over." He tilted his head, "I ain't ever told anyone here about that, Ezra. How'd you find out?"

"Maybe he remembers seeing you," Chris suggested from the bed. He was lying back now, an arm over his eyes.

"You were in the war, Ez?" JD asked, eyes open.

Ezra smiled, "Please, JD, do I look like a madman? Of course I wasn't in the war. I may have run a few supplies for the various sides, but I never enlisted. Me, in the war, what an absurd thought."

Over on his bed, Chris clicked his tongue. "Now who is lying Ezra."

"Mr. Larabee?"

"Major Larabee, Ezra. Illinois regiment. As you well know." The arm never lifted.

Ezra stared at him a moment, then swallowed thickly. The others were watching Chris and Ezra, clearly confused, especially Buck, who had been by Chris's side during much of the war. It was where they had met. He was certain they had never met Standish before coming to Four Corners.

Josiah, however, was staring up at the ceiling, a strange expression on his face. What an amazing thing, he was thinking.

"You know, I think I will leave now," Ezra said suddenly, quietly.

"I thought you might," Chris replied in the same hushed tone, but he didn't sound as pleased with himself as he could have been.

Ezra nodded to Nathan, who was watching him with a furrowed brow, then walked towards the others. The parted like the Red Sea before him, until Ezra stood on the balcony. The bright light of day burned his eyes slightly until they adjusted, then he looked down at the street.

Buck's smile had returned full force as Ezra looked back at the others, causing the still discombobulated gambler to stick his tongue out at him. Buck laughed, and soon smiled graced the other's faces again. Only Chris, who inside had removed his arm to stare somewhat blankly up at the ceiling above, wasn't grinning. He was putting together his own dreams, and shivering slightly at the implications.

Ezra glared once more at the five men on the balcony, then looked in the direction of the saloon. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the still ruined building. Work had been done on it, showing that someone was rebuilding it, but it was still a strange sight. But what really caused his heart to wrench was the sight of the woman striding towards the clinic's balcony, a wide smile on her face, arm in arm with a sling wearing Inez.

"Hello darling!" His mother cooed, waving up from the street with her free arm. "Feeling better? I was just coming to see you!"

"Mother?" Ezra gasped. He whirled on his companions, "How did she find out I was hurt?" he demanded angrily. The others just faced him with grins.

"T'weren't us, Ez," JD answered. "We never told her about you. She only found out that you were hurt when she arrived in town this morning. No, she came because of the saloon."

"The saloon?"

"How exactly do I get up there, darling?" Maude called, looking at the livery door below the balcony. "Are the stairs somewhere round the side? I certainly hope I do not have to come up through the stables here." She looked at Inez, who told her that the stairs climbed up on the far side, across from the Grain Exchange.

Meanwhile, Ezra looked back down at her, his face a mass of confusion. "Mother what are you doing here?"

She looked surprised, even as her hand went up to cover her eyes from the glare of the sun as she returned to look up at him. "Didn't your friends tell you?" she asked. "Why, my dear boy, I've gone and bought your cute little saloon again. The men who bought it from me decided they didn't want to rebuild, silly fools, and they offered it back to me at a rock bottom price. Obviously, I was not about to waste such an opportunity. Now, why don't you come down here and save me from having to yell up at you any longer, or having to climb the stairs to reach you. It's so undignified." She grinned widely.

Ezra legs gave out, and he barely felt Buck's and Vin's hands catch him. He did, however, hear their laughter.

Damned Yankees.

**End**

Some Notes: This one started as a bomb story, where, for some reason, I felt like destroying the saloon. Horrible of me I know. I tried about five different story endings, and hated all of them. This one came about after I was looking around at some Civil War sites and read about the battle of "Ezra Church." This put me in mind of Ezra's quote about General Sherman in "Inmate 78," and, well, this is what I came up with.

If you are interested in learning more about the civil war, a really straightforward site that has links to all sorts of places is the Civil War Center at www.cwc./cwc/civlink.htm

Some interesting tidbits – Johnston surrendered to Sherman one week afrer Lee surrendered to Grant, on April 17, 1865 in Raleigh, NC. Also, Johnston died after he caught a cold when he was a pallbearer at Sherman's funeral. That is why they died in the same year. A very nice, concise summary about them is available on the North Georgia website. What follows is the NG Sherman link, from which you can get to the Johnston link: /people/shermanwt.html. I figured that Ezra would like Johnston because he was a very clever, well written man. If you look at his memoirs, or at some of the letters he wrote, he had a very, ahem, "Ezra" way of speaking.

Oh, and as to Maude getting the saloon again, she fixes it up very cheaply, using Josiah's big heart shamefully in order to "borrow" some supplies he really meant to use on the church. Then she sells it again at a healthy profit…but not to Ezra.


End file.
